Fin
Characters: Ebony, Eddie (Deadline), failSpike, Geddy, Dahlia (Nightfall) Summary Nightfall continues to educate Cliff on the fine art of making a drink in his 1308 bar. A lovelorn Geddy gives Deadline (SG) a gift that's better than most any drug. And Eddie finally confronts failSpike over his tryst with Ebony. To paraphrase Brett Favre - if you're going to die, die with your pants on the ground. 1308 Bar Think Trees Lounge without the charm. A drab, concrete slab of a place on the outskirts of Chicago. Known for hosting some of the seediest of the seedy in Chicago - the bartender has opened the basement for various drug deals and smuggling rings. ;Contents: *Nightfall *Deadline "Well, about Spike," Dahlia laughs, suddenly. "Cliff and I rather... broke him of running his mouth. If he comes back in here at all, he'll certainly prove he's either got brass balls the size of watermelons, or he's as dumb as he looks." "....." Eddie takes this information in, looks about to say something...then changes his mind, and instead says, "He'll be back in here." Geddy is still in mope mode, even after going out shopping with Nightfall. He steals a few looks at Deadline, but continues to read. He keeps thinking "just play it cool, he's not worth it." Cliff is behind the bar, scratching his ear. He spent about $200 at the store on Nightfall's helpful grocery list - lots of mixers. He even made a stop at Target to get a blender that's newer than the Nixon administration. "Oh, nothing serious," assures Dahlia. Who then, suddenly, turns thoughtful. "I think. Cliff did most of the heavy lifting. ...Speaking of Geddy, though." The blonde flicks a subtle finger down the way, to covertly clue Eddie in to Geddy's presence. Geddy hears a faint mention of his name, but doesn't pull his eyes up from his collection of Dostovesky short stories. Eddie blinks, looking over in Geddy's direction. "Hm. Let me see what I can do," He tells Dee. Picking up his drink, he heads over to Geddy's table. "Can I join you? Please? I wanna explain something," he asks. Geddy looks over, man, just Eddie's voice is breaking his heart. Still...act like one of the guys. He shrugs and gestures to the empty stool. "Sure - " Dahlia lets Eddie go. Instead, she gestures to Cliff. "Soooo. Let's try this: Two scoops of ice cream, two tablespoons of cream cheese, and two shots each of creame de caceo and raspberry liqueur, with about half a cup of crushed ice. It's called 'Raspberry Cheesecake'." Cliff frowns and gestures to Nightfall, carrying a Mudslide mix. "Wait...so..THIS is the mix...then I just add alcohol and ice?" He looks at the blender. He signs and motions Dahlia over to the bar. Cliff, being a relatively beefy mid-40s guy makes no premise that he's hitting on Dahlia. Cliff frowns "No offense, honey...but all this stuff ate into about $250 of my profits...and I'm not seein' much of the clientel in here asking for..a.." He looks at the purchased 'BARTENDER GUDE' book 'grass hopper'" "Juuuuust trust me. If you're a good boy, I'll bring my girlfriends down here. And they're all as interesting as I am," teases Dahlia. "Listen. Geddy. I'm sorry," Eddie says quietly. "The day I was gonna meet you up at the stadium, I got busted for possession. Gave 'em a fake name, got booked into county central. They monitor the calls there, so I couldn't call out. I only got outta there when I promised to the judge to finish a methadone program." Cliff starts to measure out the ice cream. "Just so I can recoup my losses, I'm fine." Geddy smiles weakly to Eddie, eyes faintly meeting his. But he quickly looks away and shrugs. "Heyah...no worries - was for the best anyway. This chick I've been wanting to...bang - she called me up outta the blue." "...People are giving you upright of $20 for a $3.50 drink. Don't think I haven't noticed, oh-Captain-my-Captain." Dahlia leans on the counter, grinning to beat the Devil. "Hell, you recouped half of that on two drinks from me, buddy boy." Geddy adds "..that day - so...it's all good. Just happy you're outta jail." Cliff looks at Nightfall and frowns, ashamed he even brought up profits to such a nice lady. "Sorry..." Cliff starts to scoop some cream cheese into the blender and gives Dahlia an 'are you SURE?' look. "That right?" Eddie chuckles, looking pretty amused. "Okay, then, so I guess it worked out anyhow. That's cool. Want somethin' to drink?" Geddy nods. "Yeah! Uh...scotch!" Hell yeah, that's manly. Geddy tries to shoot the shit with the almost criminally beautiful Deadline. "So...you on the wagon now?" Cliff gives a 'in a minute' wave to Geddy. "Let me get this concoction done first." "I'm Sure, Cliff," laughs Dahlia. She's utterly content to be right where she's at. Cliff pours some creame de caceo and raspberry liqueur into the mix. THIS part he gets. Then he scoops up a half cup of ice. He then closes the top of the blender. "OK...how long do I let it go?" "What the hell's he makin' over there?" Eddie wonders curiously...then, he turns back to Geddy with a resigned look. "Well, I'm on methadone now. Substitutin' one poison for another. Eventually, I'll be back on the juice. Just a matter of time." "Oh, about thirty seconds until it's nice and blended. It makes two tall flutes worth. The second one is for Geddy to try," Dahlia states, as she pulls out a $50, and lays it on the counter. Cliff musters a smile and turns a shade of red. "Stop it...you don't need to give me a $20 or $50 for every damn drink." Geddy gives an empathetic smirk to Eddie. "That sucks..." He bites the bottom of his lip. Geddy can always supply something in need. And in this case, he even has a backup. He reaches into his jean pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. "Well...I can't give you my usual stuff, obviously, but I think you may be interested in this..." He puts the folded up piece of paper between two fingers and slides it over to Eddie, hoping Eddie would maybe brush his hand against his hand. "...Look, bud. I always treat good folk good. And after last night, you earned every penny." Dahlia winks. Yes, she's talking about failSpike. Within the paper is scribbled 'BEST WESTERN 8, 4104 Main St. #334 - WITWICKY' (during one of failSpike's drinking binges here, he went to the bathroom and left some clues about where he and the money is hiding. Cliff looks at the glasses - they are mainly small glasses, and some scant martini glasses. "GODDAMNIT!" Cliff frowns. "Your drink's gettin' cold and I'm screwin' it up - what the hell do I pour this in?!" Eddie isn't sure which is more endearing -- Geddy's willingness to help out, or his pretending to be straight. Both of those traits give the doctor a warm, tingly feeling inside. His eyes light up when he sees the hotel information, and he whispers excitedly, "How the fuck did you even get this??" "You can use a highball or a tumbler, Cliff. It ain't a big deal." Dahlia sits up... and hell, sits on the counter like a showgirl. Geddy shrugs. "People are pretty easy to figure out. A dropped hotel key here, a wrinkled-up room service receipt there." ...and in Spike's room, sure enough, there's a second sack filled with bills that says 'EDDIE's HALF' - in hopes that his best friend will finally forgive him. Cliff mumbles "So...MORE glasses I'll have to buy." He gets a tumbler and pours the mixture in. Cliff shows Nightfall a highball glass, filthy with smoke, dust and soot goo. Cliff slides the mixture to Nightfall. "No guarantees, sweetheart." Eddie grasps Geddy's hands. "How can I even begin to thank you for this??" he exclaims happily. Inside, Geddy almost passes out in esctasy. He smiles warmly to Eddie. He thinks and then shakes his head. "Know what? Don't worry about it. Maybe just a rain check next time the Sox are in town." "..." It's a damn good thing she has regeneration. Dahlia takes up the drink and samples the contents.. and looks delighted. "Perfect, Cliff." Cliff folds his arms and studies Dahlia. "You ain't just humoring me?" "Would this face lie to you?" Pause. "Don't answer that." The woman beams a beautific smile to Cliff, and verifies, "I'm not just humoring you, dear. It's very good." "I'll actually be there next time," Eddie promises. "Hey, you happen t'have a tire iron in your car I could borrow?" He smiles innocently. Cliff shrugs. "Well...just something that seems 'wrong' about makin' a mudslide out of a plastic bottle." Geddy thinks. He has no reservations about what that tire iron will be used for. He shrugs. "Sure." He gestures Deadline outside. Eddie happily follows along out the door, feeling ten feet tall. This sort of happiness for him, when it isn't drug induced, is typically found in sadistic acts. They give him such a thrill. Geddy jostles his keys and walks out. His car's easy to spot amongst the rusty 1994 Ford Taurus' and 1992 Pontiac Grand-Ams. His is a ruby red 2010 Audi. He opens the trunk, seeing the tire iron. He thinks that Eddie may not be back. He gulps and before he hands it over, he looks at Eddie again. His throat feels full. He shakes his head, "Eddie...I'm sorry - look, I KNOW you dig chicks...and - I can get over this - whatever I'm feeling - if want me as a friend...but..could you do me a HUGE favor?" Eddie weighs the tire iron in his hands, testing the feel of it against one palm. Looking over at Geddy, he asks, "What is it?" Geddy looks like he's on the verge of tears. However, in a place not known for its tolerance, Cliff and the clientel have taken to Geddy and have served as his protector - enough to know that no one would dare start anything with him or do anything so much as rub against his Audi. Geddy sighs and looks at Eddie. "Can you just kiss me on the mouth, once? That's it! Swear to god, I'll put whatever I'm feeling aside..." Geddy shuts the trunk of the Audi, already regretting what he just said. He laughs "You know what...forget it - was just givin' yah shit." Cliff looks outside. "I think I'm going to lose a regular tonight." He looks at Nightfall "And I'm not talkin' about Lifeline, and I'm sure as hell not talking about Geddy." "Aww, just once?" Eddie teases. "Sweet car, by the way. I'd ask for a ride in it, but I tend to be a trouble magnet. Know what I'm saying?" He smiles slightly. "...But I really do like you. There's no reason to pretend, y'know. The pretending's kind of silly." Geddy nods, trying to fight back some tears. He shakes his head. "You know what...forget it. Just forget what I said...promise me we'll hang out whenever you get done with..." He gestures to his tire iron. "that.." He smiles at Eddie. "And don't get caught." Dahlia shrugs. "Que Sera, Sera. Like I said - my friends are a little more interesting, and certainly prettier than Spike." "Okay." Eddie chuckles, finding Geddy's concern completely endearing. "Quality time. I mean it. Just going to go pay a social call right now." He winks, and then begins slinking down the street. Geddy calls out "Remember, that piece of shit deserves to die, but he's not worth a life sentence!" Chicago, Illinois - USA Deadline has arrived. Nightfall has arrived. Sure enough #314 in Motel Six. Spike's in his room, moving around at the pace of a turtle. He has a neck brace on...which explains him sipping a Budweiser from a straw. Still, that hasn't stopped him from waiting for a female 'escort'. In his room rests a sack full of $100s that says 'EDDIE's SHARE - DON'T TOUCH" Eddie saunters up to 314, listens against the door for a moment, and very gently taps on the door with the tire iron. Spike Witwicky breathes through his teeth as he sits down on the bed and starts to flip the channels. He then hears the tap. He looks over and grins "Hyeah honey...hope you like pole dancing!" He winces and starts walking slowly toward the door, breathing in as each step shoots a small pain in his neck. "And when I say pole, I mean my cock..." Spike Witwicky starts to open the lock and then opens the door just to make sure, the chain's still on the door. Eddie snickers under his breath, then steps out of the way of the door -- off to one side -- and says in a squeaky falsetto, "Oh, that sounds so sexy!" Spike Witwicky , content with Eddie's falsetto, removes the chain guard and starts to open the door. "You're in for a treat. Let me tell you about the 'Witwicky Stick'" Ah, what the hell. Nightfall is an Agent, and Agents can do some fun things. Like change up disguises on the quick. So, be not surprised, Eddie, when a young woman with raven black hair, clad in a Catholic School Girl's outfit, complete with the Black sweater, worn over the white shirt, the gray tartan skirt, the white stockings and dress shoes, comes angling up behind the tire-iron weilding Eddie. "Pssst," she murmurs. "...It's Dahlia. ...I couldn't miss this." It'd be hard to tell that it was Dahlia at a glance - that long pigtailed black wig is top notch. "Awesome," Eddie whispers with a grin, checking Dee out. "Wanna serve as the distraction? I don't think he'll be much resistance in his current condition." "It'd be my..." And she pirouettes around Eddie, to idly lean in the doorway of Spike's room. "Pleasure." Spike Witwicky spots secret Agent Nightfall in her Catholic School Girl outfit. His back toward Eddie, his mouth gapes "Oh...My...Effin'....GOD." "So, is this all the chains you have in there?" One painted finger flicks idly at the security chain that holds the door in place. "Or do you have more in mind for me, Big Boy?" Spike Witwicky winces and tries to fiddle with the velcro on his neck brace. "Girlie Girl...no way this thing's going to inhibit me tonight." "Then let me inside, and we'll... converse about those little injuries," purrs the 'Escort', huskily. Again, she flicks at the security chain, waiting on Spike to finally open the door. Eddie bites his lip to hold back laughter. He figures that once they're in, Spike won't even notice him until it's too late. Spike Witwicky shakes his head and breaths out in extreme pain as the neck brace drops. "No..." He slides the security chain off and escorts Secret Agent Nightfall in. He can barely step he's in so much pain right now. "Was thinkin'...since I'm kinda hurt - maybe you can just ride me or like, suck it really good." Spike tries to puff his chest up "I got a lot of money..." He keeps making tiny steps back to his bed, shutting the door, but too much in pain to lock it since that would require a pivot motion. "I got...ice, coke, coca cola *he laughs - joke - cocaine, Coke*, rum, JD."" Oh, the Chameleon saucily pushes her way inside, leaving the door open wide enough to allow Eddie passage. She struts in, right by Spike, and catches his shoulder with her hand to gently attempt to turn him away from the door, and focus his attention on her. "Mm. I suppose I could ride you... Take away all that *pain*..." Eddie strolls right in, giving Dee a wink as he quietly glances around -- then makes his way to the big pile of money that says, 'EDDIE'S HALF'. How nice of Spike to leave it sitting there so obvious. Grabbing an empty duffel bag, he begins stuffing money into it. Spike Witwicky blinks, hearing the shuffling of someone else in the room, but too slow to move around. Nightfall's hand is still on him. "Huh? Whass that?" "It's just my girlfriend. I figured we'd have a threesome," explains the escort, whose smile brightens. "That's her getting out her toys..." Spike Witwicky nods. "Good idea..." He starts to fidget quickly to unbutton his pants. "Now, now. Let me help you with that." Dahlia-the-escort purrs as she sinks to her knees, her fingers working to unbuckle his belt. See, it's hard to run with your pants around your ankles. Spike Witwicky leers, "trust me...even when I'm at half speed, you're gonna looooove me."" Spike Witwicky sees *something* out of the corner of his eyes and tries to turn his head. GAME: Spike Witwicky PASSES a DEXTERITY roll of Very High difficulty. Once all the money's in the duffel, Eddie zips it up, placing it near the bed where he can quickly grab it in 'clean getaway' style. Now, he's really close to Spike, just behind him. As he manages to turn his head, Eddie stands there smiling maniacally, clutching the tire-iron like a Louisville slugger. "Oh, hai," he purrs. "I'm in your rooms. Gettin' mah monies." "YOU!" Spike cries out. Spike Witwicky closes his eyes "OH man, thank god, you're OK!" ...meanwhile, Dahlia kind of moves to get on her hands and knees, behind Spike's legs. It's a classic tripping technique - all Eddie has to do is push him. Spike Witwicky starts to put two and two together. He looks at Dahlia in disgust. "Stupid dyke!" with that, he tries to escape. GAME: Spike Witwicky FAILS a DEXTERITY roll of Immense difficulty. "Course I'm okay, jackass! No thanks to you! Why'd you take off like that?? With my money? Huh??" When Spike tries to run, Eddie gives him a shove in Dee's direction, hoping he'll end up sprawled on the floor. Spike Witwicky lets out a shriek in pain as he's not supposed to MOVE. He gasps in panic "I couldn't...I wanted to...you were so mad and upset!" Spike Witwicky pants "See...see...count it - I haven't touched a DIME - swear to god! that's your share!" GothGirl stays in place. Not to worry, Spike just depantsed himself anyway. Poor failSpike - damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. So, Dahlia just gives Spike a shove at the back of the knees. Alright, so it's more like a martial arts chop. Spike Witwicky screams in pain as the move jostles his neck. "SHIT! SHIT!" Eddie looms over Spike menacingly, looking about ready to bust his skull open in utter rage, when suddenly...... "...Hey, you in pain? I can fix that, y'know." Eddie grins widely. "For a price." Spike Witwicky nodnods. He says "I still have a few grand..." "just...let me get it..." Spike Witwicky is now on his knees in crawling position. He tries to crawl toward the closet, where his share is. ...Or not. The GothGirl sits up on her knees, and observes with idle skepticism. "He might have a robbery weapon in there, Eddie." Spike Witwicky crawls on all fours to the closet. "True, maybe. But 'clever' really ain't his M.O...not often, anyhow." Not wanting to take any chances, Eddie hurries over to the closet to see if Spike is crazy enough to try and pull a fast one on him, in his current condition. Spike Witwicky points to the doorknob to the closet. "Open it..." he reaches up to open, but coming a few inches short. Inside is a sack of several hundreds. Observe and hear the idle racking of a small caliber pistol! The GothGirl has produced from the small of her back, underneath her sweater, a .380. And a silencer, and she's busy threading the latter to the former, while her attention is on Eddie for confirmation... "...Why thanks!" Eddie says brightly, adding the sack to his duffel bag and giving Dee a slight shrug of 'Who Knew?'. "K, lemme take a look at this injury for you." Everything's all sunshine and puppydogs again, apparently. These two have a very strange friendship. He picks Spike up carefully, and places him down in a place on the floor where he can take a look at the injury. Eddie's motivation? Why, Spike's a veritable cash cow for him. The bucks just keep rolling in, so long as the guy's alive. GothChick looks quite disappointed. "Aww." Spike Witwicky screams in agonizing pain, much like the time when Eddie did a fireman's carry for him when Cain (SG) (Carly Banas (SG) 's bf) literally beat him into the ground. He points to his neck, tears a flowin' (it's a bruise to the cervical spine that's almost down to the bone. Spike Witwicky winces as his pants are still around his ankles. "Now...I'm thinkin' - this is worth like...two grand, and you can take another four and put it on my balance...but I need 3 grand to keep me on my feet." Eddie begins checking Spike out carefully. "How'd you hurt your back like this? Damn. Well..." He seems to be thinking, glancing over at Dee in a pensive manner. "Lemme give you somethin' for the pain." He proceeds to shoot Spike up with a little bit of morphine. Once this is done, he heads over to where Dee is waiting. Dee has gotten herself off of the ground at this point, but is still holding the .380, arms folded. Spike Witwicky closes his eyes and sighs with relief. "Oh...some dumbass bartender..." he gives an eellike grin. "No worries though...I fucked him up good." Spike Witwicky mumbles as the morphine takes hold. "Thanks, Eddie - you're the best friend anyone could have - " Eddie sighs. "One question, just answer it. Did you fuck my wife? Yes or no?" Spike Witwicky nods, mumbling "Yeah...she had a gun to my head - but I didn't want to...I didn't like...stick her - she told me to just use my hand - " he drawls as the morphine has a truth-syrum-like effect. Dahlia looks from Eddie to Spike and back. Spike Witwicky babbles "I didn't want to...because Eddie's my best friend. But she said do it or die - guess..." he mumbles "Word got out that I'm that good in the sack..." "Appreciate the honesty, bro." Eddie steps back to light up a cigarette, and as he does, he smirks and looks at Dee with a nod, as if to say, 'waste him'. Dahlia doesn't waste any time. Her arms unfold and she steps over to where Spike lays. Now, from there, Spike is looking down the barrel of a silenced .380, and up Dahlia's skirt. Not a bad way to die, one supposes. Spike Witwicky looks up at Dahlia as one eyelid opens in recognized sobriety. He looks at the .380, then Dahlia...then her skirt. His eyes pulse with worry. Eddie's got to watch. He can't help himself. Sure, there's a twinge of something kind of like regret, there, but mostly it's just relief. Who played who in this life? He looks on, taking deep drags off his cigarette. The Grim, Beautiful Arbiter of Death Traces Spike's immobilized noggin with the muzzle of that assassin's weapon. One muted muzzle flash, only Spike could see in that last second. A cough from the barrel, a wisp of smoke. A fragmenting slug leaves at 1200 feet per second, intending to send Spike... to the other side. Dahlia doesn't even say a word. PSHT!* The carpet next to Spike's head is instantly filled with dark blood, bone fragments and grey matter. Spike lays still, his head lulls to one side, giving Eddie a typical pathetic look like he needs a fix. Pants around his leg and mouth gaped, Spike has an oddly content look on his face as he meets his maker in a relatively painless way. The Assassin stoops one last time to collect her spent shell casing, and goes about unthreading the silencer as she turns toward Eddie. "Geddy's waiting." "I'll take care of the mess. An anonymous tip to the police from a payphone in downtown Chicago should clean it up nicely." Dahlia continues to observe Eddie, watching the man for any sudden and violent outbursts. Eddie steps over Spike's corpse, and grabs his bag of money. "You died like you lived, man. With your pants down," he eulogizes. With that, he reaches down, and gives Spike the unusually tender post-mortem gesture of closing his eyes. He's anything but violent at the moment; he's just calm and relieved. "Thanks, Dee." He picks up his money duffelbag. "Let's get out of here..." "No problem." Dahlia doesn't make any jabs at being glad to do it. There's no need for such crassness. "I'll be along in about two hours. Vanishing after murder is an art." Dahlia replaces the firearm and sidearm at the small of her back in the hem holster of her skirt, and covers it over with her sweater before she idly makes good her escape, like any good escort leaving a seedy hotel room. She even locks the door behind her. She'll keep the disguise and make a few Taxi hops to downtown, where she'll 'make a call' from someone else's Cell Phone in passing, using Cyberkinesis - an anonymous tip to the CPD. And then she'll return back to the 1308, without ever having connected herself to the call that turned in the tip.